Jerry’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was the mirror ball. The second thing he saw was a thing with three heads doing something he could only define as 1970s disco. If it wasn’t for the skin tight open to the navel black silk shirt and a myriad of heavy gold chains he might not have realized he was in a time vortex. Not only was he in a vortex but the warring sectors of Silge-Grabuuk had somehow gotten caught in the space-time continuum with him.

This was not a good thing.

Not at all.

At least Jerry, aka Professor Boofenhauf aka Dean of the College of Intergalactic Relations, knew a thing or two about the Silge and the Grabuuk. For one thing they loved the Bee Gees.

So, Jerry thought to himself, it must have been the Frankie Valli crap that sent out a signal throughout the galaxies, like a siren call. Quickly, Jerry checked his pocket for the dark space dust he always kept with him, in a small vial. Good, it was still safe. Jerry nonchalantly tucked it deeper into his pocket. There was a very good chance he might need it later.

He let the music wash over him (even though the Bee Gees were worse than nails scraping down on a freshly painted wall) and got into the groove. One hand up to the ceiling, the other pointing down to the ground. He managed a twirl and a split, landing himself near the exit door. If he was lucky the three-headed being wouldn’t notice him as he made his way out of where ever it was he’d landed.

But luck was not on his side tonight (made obvious by his failed attempt to pick up the barista).

“Boogullinee!” screamed one of the heads.

Jerry put one ear bud from his multi-world iPod in and immediately understood the native Silge language.

“Hey, we’re cool, dude. I’m just going to get refill.” Jerry pointed to an empty latte cup that had miraculously come with him from the Bud and Bean.

“You must stay in your chair, dude person. Until the Captain illuminates the fasten seat sign. Good tunes, eh?”

“Where are we headed?” Jerry asked, taking the closest thing to chair he could find in the place and buckling a contraption that seemed to pass for a seat belt.

“The Black Hole of Borneo. To seek the Sacred Pinky Ring.”

Then as all three heads bobbed to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive,” the ship warped into overdrive and they vanished into a wormhole.

“This is your captain speaking….”